Decisions
by themightynoodle
Summary: Love doesn't always blossom in the arena. Sometimes, it's in the aftermath. Finnick's story, told in the Quarter Quell.


A Little Talk

By

Nicole Garcia

I step out into the clearing, both my mind and stance still shaky from another sleepless night. Waves lap at my feet and the sand shifts around me, unfazed by my appearance. It's morning again, which means I've spent another night staring at this artificial sky, heart pounding, mind racing. It's not good for me. I know. I need to put all of my energy into saving Peeta, and how can I do that when the only energy I have is succumbing to exhaustion?

It's been a couple of days, I think, since the jabberjay attack. My memory's getting as hazy as the stagnant air that hangs over us, yet the jabberjays still remain, clear and pristine. Those voices, and the faces that they imply, those faces contorted in pain, forever unreachable… I would have preferred facing the fog.

Who can I talk to about this? Beetee? Certainly not Johanna. Not even Peeta, who I swore to save, would truly understand me now. He had to be there. He had to be there…

Only one person was with me during the jabberjay attack.

Suddenly, I'm alive again. My feet guide me towards the spot where Finnick Odair lies sleeping on the sand. He's so peaceful, I feel almost guilty when he's awakened by the salt water and comes to, coughing and irritated. At least until he sees me.

"Katniss?" He's already up on his feet, his eyes darting around until he's sure there's nothing out for blood. "What's the matter? Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Finnick… nothing life threatening, that is. For now. I guess. I don't know. Finnick-"

He yawns. "Katniss, if it's baby troubles that got you down, might I redirect you to a different male in the group?"

"It's not baby troubles." My fists are balling up now. Perhaps I shouldn't have bothered. Finnick's still Finnick, after all…

No. The jabberjays are still lingering.

"It's about the attack."

He knows what I'm talking about at once – or at least, his body does, because I can see him stiffen at the words as they land on his ears.

There's a long pause between us before he finally says, "What do you want to know?"

What do I want to know? Peeta's already told me that the voices weren't real, and Beetee confirmed it. What's bothering me? Why am I still tortured by those birds that sing lies? What's going to comfort me now? Perhaps… perhaps if I knew that he was going through the same thing, that it might relieve this tension. To know that there's someone he loves at home, too.

I realize that there's a burning curiosity in me, now, for the mad girl he left at home.

"Who's Annie?" I ask.

He's wide awake now, and there is probably no reason or good cause to stay down when there's so many things that can spring out to kill us. Yet he falls back on the soft sand, hand on his forehead, as if I was the one who unleashed a migraine.

Another seemingly interminable silence passes as he chooses his words slowly. Cautiously. Then, his story begins.

"Annie…is… a girl I know," he says, "a girl I've known for quite a while. I didn't know I knew her for quite a while, as strange as that sounds, but she's been in my life. In school. In my part of town. Fishing around nearby docks. We've met, and bumped shoulders quite a few times. She was pretty… average by my standards." A smile creeps up his lips. Of course, the sex symbol from District Four would rate his own love.

"I was already popular, even back then, because of my good looks. Winning the Hunger Games only boosted up my status a couple of notches. So I was a little ahead of myself when she showed up as a fresh new winner a year or two later." He flashes a whole smile now with his teeth bright in the fully risen sun. "I mean, hey, who could possibly outdo somebody like me, right?"

I roll my eyes, but it's too late now. I'm trapped in his story, snared in the web he's weaved of the life of a boy and girl in District Four.

"But… she was a little shaken up. Something… happened to her district partner that was pretty traumatizing. Even for me. The first time I ever truly met her, she was crumpled to the ground, her ears clenched tight over her head."

"And what did you do?" I ask.

"Helped her back up, of course."

"That's not very romantic," I retort.

He glares at me. "You, Katniss, of all people, should be a skeptic of the lovey-dovey."

"Right. Go on."

Another smile. "I guess… I guess there was a little something in the way she looked at me. Like I wasn't something to admire. Or something to detest," he says, shooting a look at me, "since I'm usually either one or the other. Usually the one leads _to_ the other.

And… and then it began. The healing process. Me, healing her insanity, trying to salvage what has been lost in the arena, and she… well, she was getting rid of my cockiness once and for all. And that's how it was, for hours and hours, days upon days, just this constant talking and healing. It was a nice change."

"From what?"

"From… other things. She wanted nothing of my body. And I guess that was new."

What thoughts and horrible accusations fly across the Capitol right now? Which shallow lovers are sobbing as they realize that they are not his one and always, that they never were? Certainly some truly epic rumor is blossoming amongst them all. He's not going to get away with his confession easily. Then again, I wonder if he necessarily cares anymore.

"So that's the one whose name you were screaming back when the jabberjays attacked. Someone you could just talk to."

"Yep. That's pretty much it, Katniss. And I couldn't stand it. You know how it felt."

I do. And it hurts just to think of it now.

"You'd do anything to protect her?"

"Really, that's a stupid question."

Yet again, the silence passes.

"There was one day, though, when she stopped talking altogether. When she retreated back into that world I worked so hard to bring her out of. It was the most terrifying thing I've experienced, to see her crumpled on the floor again. She was the one thing I truly had to work for. That's when I knew I loved her. When I knew that I couldn't let all that hard work slip away like everything I _have_ let slip away, time and time again."

The story's over now. The waves still lap against the shore. The insects still hum with warnings of danger in the jungle. Yet knowing about her, I feel like I can understand this once mysterious competitor. I can understand about working hard. About letting things go. I feel it for Prim, my mother, Gale. And now, for Peeta.

Peeta. I've had him. I always have, from the moment I sang back in school if his story is anything to be believed. But I've worked to keep him alive for so long… and I can't let him slip away.

The cameras are surely trained on us now. I know it. But Finnick has always been one for the spotlight, and odds are, he's beyond caring. He stretches as Johanna is stomping a few yards away, furious at our ongoing conversation.

"Is that all you wanted to know? My sappy story?" He asks almost teasingly.

I smile. "Nope. I just wanted to know who Annie was."

Finnick kicks up some sand, now restless. "Well, you got that and more. Let's get to work. We've got a long day ahead of us, I can tell."

That's right. It's a long day ahead of all of us. Because now, not only am I determined to bring Peeta back safely, I've got to find away to return Finnick to his Annie.


End file.
